"Well," said Hanaud, laughing, "I will tell you. I was asking myself: 'Why does a man who owns no motor-car, who hires no motor-car, go out into Aix and buy an automobilist's road-map? With what object?' And I found it an interesting question. M. Harry Wethermill was not the man to go upon a walking tour, eh? Oh, I was obtaining evidence. But then came an overwhelming thing--the murder of Marthe Gobin. We know now how he did it. He walked beside the cab, put his head in at the window, asked, 'Have you come in answer to the advertisement?' and stabbed her straight to the heart through her dress. The dress and the weapon which he used would save him from being stained with her blood. He was in your room that morning, when we were at the station. As I told you, he left his glove behind. He was searching for a telegram in answer to your advertisement. Or he came to sound you. He had already received his telegram from Hippolyte. He was like a fox in a cage, snapping at every one, twisting vainly this way and that way, risking everything and every one to save his precious neck. Marthe Gobin was in the way. She is killed. Mlle. Celie is a danger. So Mile. Celie must be suppressed. And off goes a telegram to the Geneva paper, handed in by a waiter from the cafe at the station of Chambery before five o'clock. Wethermill went to Chambery that afternoon when we went to Geneva. Once we could get him on the run, once we could so harry and bustle him that he must take risks--why, we had him. And that afternoon he had to take them." "So that even before Marthe Gobin was killed you were sure that Wethermill was the murderer?" Hanaud's face clouded over. "You put your finger on a sore place, M. Ricardo. I was sure, but I still wanted evidence to convict. I left him free, hoping for that evidence. I left him free, hoping that he would commit himself. He did, but--well, let us talk of some one else. What of Mlle. Celie?" Ricardo drew a letter from his pocket. "I have a sister in London, a widow," he said. "She is kind. I, too, have been thinking of what will become of Mlle. Celie. I wrote to my sister, and here is her reply. Mlle. Celie will be very welcome." Hanaud stretched out his hand and shook Ricardo's warmly. "She will not, I think, be for very long a burden. She is young. She will recover from this shock. She is very pretty, very gentle. If--if no one comes forward whom she loves and who loves her--I--yes, I myself, who was her papa for one night, will be her husband forever." He laughed inordinately at his own joke; it was a habit of M. Hanaud's. Then he said gravely: "But I am glad, M. Ricardo, for Mlle. Celie's sake that I came to your amusing dinner-party in London." Mr. Ricardo was silent for a moment. Then he asked: "And what will happen to the condemned?" "To the women? Imprisonment for life." "And to the man?" Hanaud shrugged his shoulders.